


The Joke Would Be: All the Bed's a Stage

by sssibilance



Series: To Cardassia, With Love [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Anal Sex, Cardassians, Domestic, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon Cardassia, Sex Toys, Spanking, Vibrators, overabundance of banter, tiny houses, unrealistic sex act in a generally realistic sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1965165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sssibilance/pseuds/sssibilance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though part of a series, this may be read as a stand-alone piece.</p><p>Set before <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1443154">Twinnings</a>. Garak makes a delightful discovery while unpacking some of Bashir's bags.  It's a vibrator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Joke Would Be: All the Bed's a Stage

**Author's Note:**

> Details of Cardassian biology are borrowed from [tinsnip](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip) and [TerokNorTailor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TerokNorTailor/pseuds/TerokNorTailor), with many thanks.

Garak puttered around his little workshed-cum-tiny house, tidying up in the late afternoon light. In such a small space, clutter became overwhelming quickly, and it was a daily battle to quash it before he and his housemate found themselves drowning in projects, scattered tools, and clothes left unfolded. Now that his little home housed two, the problem was doubled.

Garak had spent quite some time pondering and innovating storage solutions before Bashir's arrival, and though Bashir himself had packed very lightly for his new life on Cardassia, a few bags had been forced to remain unpacked until rearranged items had been resorted once more, and more space had been made. They were a month in, and still not done. Bashir had come up with a clever built-in shelving system that fit flush into the wall above the head of their bed. Its second appeal was the door, which closed neatly on a single hinge and blended into the wall, becoming invisible. Bashir had as of late immersed himself in interior decoration 'zines, and perused them single-mindedly on his PADD in the bath, in the bed, while brushing his teeth, to the point of distraction. The cupboard plan had come from one of these publications. Bashir and Garak modified the tricky hinge system to work for their little house and the materials at hand.

The night before, Garak and Bashir attacked the wall, tools in hand, and built and installed the cupboard. Garak had gloated silently the entire time over his new partner's clever mind and hands, which seemed to shift seamlessly from the inside of a Denobulan heart to covert cabinetry. Tired, and with a long shift starting early in the day, Bashir had put off actually filling the compartment, and had instead fallen tiredly into bed. Garak hadn't the heart to force Bashir to stay awake long enough to clean up their mess; he did it himself instead before curling up with the dead-sleeping Human.

Now, Garak pulled open the cupboard door and considered it, hands on hips. What to put in it? Garak liked the idea of a hidden compartment, and as he examined the shelves inside decided it was perfect for little personal effects, things one liked to keep handy by the bed, and anything they might like to hide. Bashir, it had turned out, had quite the habit of secreting and storing, complementing Garak's encultured paranoia.

Garak pulled open the narrow table drawer next to their bed and pulled out the bundle of little handwritten notes, scrawled in lazily elegant script he kept there. They were all from Bashir, left on the table, or in odd places like the coolbox, or under a seam knitter. The theme was the same, little _hello_ s and _I'll miss you today_ s _,_ and a few comical drawings. In the Obsidian Order, he had been told many times not to keep such personal effects – Garak's careful storing of them was an act of rebellion that he told himself was for his own good. He put them in the cupboard, along with a few small books he’d kept carefully from childhood. There. That made more room in the table.

Next, Garak walked the few short steps to where Bashir's two remaining unpacked bags sat, stacked one atop the other. They were pushed up against the wall where the bathtub folded out. When Garak or Bashir wished to bathe, they needed first to move the bags, then pull out and unfold the bathtub and connect the plumbing. When done, they needed to drain the tub into the grey-water system for the outdoor-indoor privy and plants, dry the bathtub, fold it back, and return the bags to their previous position. It was getting tiresome. Garak imagined if he could help Bashir clear his luggage out a little, Bashir could come home to one less task to do.

The bag on top was smaller, and seemed an ideal place to start. It was already open. There was Bashir's toiletry kit, which would now fit in the bedside table alongside Garak's. A few clothing items that still needed a home, including a few rather fancy pieces of smallclothes, or underwear.  _Well_ . Garak fingered the silvery waistband on a black pair of briefs. Definitely not what Bashir wore daily. There was a bag of dried fruit, perfect for storing above the bed; Bashir had a habit of waking up in the middle of the night in search of something sweet. Below that, a very old and slender book written in what Garak guessed was Arabic. Inside were many scraps of paper stashed with notes and marginalia covering them. He closed the book, knowing when not to pry. Garak went over to the bed and set the fruit and book inside the cupboard.

Now, there seemed mostly clothing left. Garak moved a small stack of t-style shirts aside, and found below them, a soft black drawstring bag. He lifted it, and felt its weight and the long shape of its contents. He opened the drawstring.

_Doctor, you have been holding out on me._ Obviously Cardassian biology, and thus production of such items were different, but Garak knew a sexual toy when he saw one. Garak glanced over to the open door and pulled the curtain that separated the living area from the bed nook. Now, for a better look. The toy was shaped like a Human prUt, much longer than what Cardassians deemed necessary. It was anatomically correct, with a well-shaped head and shaft, perhaps a bit wider and longer than average, but not obscene. It was, however, purple. Odd. It felt a little like the real article as well – hard, but with a delicate softness like skin. It had a flared base – Garak supposed so it did not get lost inside the user – and there was a little sensor at the bottom. Garak thumbed it, and the device started vibrating softly and steadily. 

Garak decided he was done cleaning for the day.

 

Garak was sitting patiently on the bed when he heard Bashir arrive home. There was the sound of Bashir slipping off his outside shoes and replacing them with indoor sandals; and the soft shuffle of his entrance. “Garak?”  Garak heard Bashir set his bag down and pour a glass of water. Garak called out, “Shut the door, Doctor.”

“What's going on?” Bashir called. Garak heard the door shut and lock despite the confusion in Bashir's voice and listened to Bashir's steps approaching, schooling his face.  _No grinning!_

Bashir stepped around the curtain. “Garak, what are you do-,” Bashir's eyes fell on the device in Garak's hand. “Oh, hello. That's my vibrator.”

Garak smiled pleasantly. “Indeed it is. A lovely thing. My dear, I am very disappointed you have been keeping this from me.”

Bashir's smile indicated a large load of ego-stroking was about to be dropped. “Darling. It's a testament to your prowess in the bedroom, and your utterly satisfying cock.” He stepped closer, hips moving with intent. “And incidentally, it's not like I was hiding it. It's been in the bag the whole time.”

“Hmm.” Garak hefted the toy's weight, like he was considering a purchase. Bashir interrupted his practised stalling.

“I suppose you're going to seduce me now.”

“Am I?” Garak reached out with his free hand, sneaked it into Bashir's waistband, and pulled him in close. “I'm sure that wasn't my intention.

“Of course not.” Garak watched Bashir considering him, saw the spark of mischief. “Actually, I think -,” Bashir stopped talking in favour of movement. He swiped the vibrator from Garak's hand. He canted his hips, smile consciously coy. “Do you want to see a trick?”

“Must you ask?”

“Ha.” Bashir held the vibrator up to his mouth, parallel with his lips. He gave it a long lick from base to tip, sloppily kissing the head with exaggerated gusto. It was quite a stirring performance. Garak shifted minutely. He was certain he could actually feel the flow of blood through small arteries, setting certain intimate areas alight.

As Bashir continued to slick the vibrator with long, lasting strokes, Garak began to wonder where this was going. “You do know, my dear, I am well aware of your skill in this area.”

Bashir paused only after completing a rather messy kiss on the head of the toy. He pointed the vibrator at Garak, its body spit-slick and shining. The device was quite the anatomical study; a little slivered dimple atop the head imitated the – what is called? –  _meatus_ , and made for a very consternated pseudo-eye; staring Garak down. Meeting the plasticex one-eyed glare straight on, Garak understood he was being admonished. “This is not the trick, Garak. Hush.”

“I apologise, Doctor. And to your  _friend_ .”

“My friend appreciates it.” Bashir took a step back. “Now, here's the trick.” As if to be contrary, Bashir gave the vibrator a solid final kiss, before tipping his head back. His neck still shined with sweat from his walk home, and glistened rather nicely in the slanting sunlight. Bashir slipped the vibrator into his mouth in a manner well familiar to Garak. Garak watched his cheeks hollow and heard the quiet sounds of sucking. He adjusted his tunic; the soft slip of cloth over the scales on his neck ridges was now titillating torture.

Garak supposed this was the trick: that Bashir would imitate the ministrations he so masterfully applied to Garak's person. As Bashir continued to push the vibrator into his mouth, Garak realised his error. Human prUts were oddly proportioned, pointlessly long. For a Human's nethers he supposed this was useful. For a mouth, however: where would it go?

Garak found himself an audience of one to a disappearing act. Slowly, surely, Bashir slid the toy down into his mouth; and here Garak realised just  _where_ a prUt-like item could go. Garak watched in fascination as Bashir's throat worked to accommodate its burden. His swallows, aiding the toy's descent, were heavy and exaggerated, but if he was in any discomfort Bashir did not show it. Indeed, his eyes crinkled in delight, his mouth grinning as well as it could wrapped around a phallus. Bashir's eyes shifted from examining the ceiling to gazing down past his nose at Garak with heated, heavy lids. Garak felt frozen in place, his hands set on his thighs, unable to move to soothe his swollen and slickening ajan.

Slowly, slowly, with careful swallows and slick sounds, Bashir's lips met the base of the vibrator. Garak found he was holding his breath, and let it out in a heavy huff. Bashir, head still tipped back, breathing hard from his nostrils, worked the buttons along the right side of his hospital tunic and let it fall to the floor. He undid the fastenings on his trousers next, pushing them down low enough so that they fell to the floor on their own and Bashir could step of of them with careful grace. He was now only clad in his undergarment, tight shorts Humans called 'boxer briefs,' inexplicably. The beginning of an erection was evident, a hard line beneath skin-hugging fabric.

Bashir, head still tipped back, gaze still pointed downward from on high, seemed at that moment a haughty sort of prince of pleasure, gazing at his subject captivated by royal spectacle. Bashir palmed himself for a moment, moaning obscenely, with a stage performer's gravitas. He spread his arms wide, as if to say, “Behold, my transfixed mate, my mastery of the gag reflex.” He finally reached again for the vibrator, pulling it slowly out, one hand running down his chest. Once he had it free, he swung his arms out again, tipped his head back downwards, and dipped into a deep bow.

There was only one thing to do. Garak clapped loudly, and at his “Bravo!” Bashir was no longer the performer, but his grinning doctor, doubled over in laughter. He fell into Garak's lap, straddling his thighs and still tittering with amusement.

“I must say, Doctor, I am impressed. I have not given your species enough creative credit.” He stroked Bashir's throat softly. “That does seem an uncomfortable feat, however.”

“Well, it's a practised art.” Bashir wiggled closer, pushing their torsos together. “Obviously you must suppress the gag reflex. Not everyone likes the idea.”

“I suppose you are well-practised.”

“Ah. Ha. I did make good use of my undergraduate years. Don't be jealous, love, all my skills are now and forever solely at your service.”

Garak smiled at that thought. “I'm glad to hear it. Because I'd very much like to make use of your little toy.”

“Oh?” Bashir shivered a little as Garak ran his hands down his bare arms, tickling the soft, dark hair. “What did you have in mind?”

Garak's hands now reached Bashir's wrists and gripped them easily. Bashir flexed his hands, dropping the vibrator on the bed. Garak leaned in, nipping at Bashir's earlobe before murmuring. “I think I'd like to fuck you with that lovely device. Is that acceptable to you?”

Bashir's head dropped onto Garak's shoulder with a groan, arms still trapped by Garak's grip. “ _Yes._ ” Bashir's breath was hot on Garak's already warm scales. “You know, I've been thinking of you all day.” Garak pulled at Bashir's wrists, pulling Bashir's upper body away from Garak's. Garak got his wished-for reaction: Bashir lifted his head, placing his lips close enough to claim.

“Have you?” He nipped at Bashir's lower lip, earning him a breathy laugh.

Bashir pressed his mouth fast to Garak's, as if lip-to-lip contact were necessary for passing words. “Yes. I was so hot, I wanted to hide in the head and stroke off.”

Garak choked a little on that filthy detail, and let Bashir start to kiss him, bossy and sure. Bashir pushed his tongue in, seeking a landing and sliding along teeth. In sweet accompaniment, Bashir rolled his hips against Garak's stomach in little rocking ruts. Garak spread his legs more, letting Bashir's humpings better reach his his ajan.

Bashir slid his mouth down Garak's jaw and neck, tongue still out. He kissed at Garak's neck scales sweetly but sloppily, humming quietly, still moving his hips. Bashir very deliberately paid attention to each large scale: Garak could sense him mentally counting as he kissed back upwards to the third scale from the top. When Bashir bared his sharp teeth and made a delicious bite at Garak's  kinat’hU , Garak wasn't surprised, but still jerked and gasped. 

“Stop.” He used his grip on Bashir's wrists to push him off him and up into a standing position. Bashir's smalls were stained with pre-ejaculate, his prUt pushing up at the waistband.

Bashir stumbled, off balance. “What?”

Garak freed Bashir's prUt from his undergarment and gave the shaft a firm grip and twist. “Let's not dawdle. I want you on this bed.”

Bashir smirked, tilting his hips forward. making quite a display with his reddened and alert prUt sticking from the slit in his smalls. “Aww, you looked so cute waiting there for me to come home to fuck. You're like a thrilled puppy.” Bashir moved to try to pull Garak to his feet, perhaps intent on climbing all over him like his primate cousins, but Garak was too quick. He twisted -  _gently_ \- Bashir's grasping arm and pulled him in, twisting him and turning him onto the bed. Bashir hit the mattress with an _oof!_ Now it was Garak's turn to climb all over his mate like an amourous ape. 

“Julian,” Garak whispered lowly, pinning Bashir's arms. Bashir laughed breathlessly. “Don't be ridiculous. You're the one who swallowed an entire synthetic prUt and became half-hardened from the perverse little act.”

Bashir's next laugh was half moan, and one hundred percent delight as he pushed his hips up to meet Garak's, still determined to come out on top. “You're filthy. I want it.” Garak allowed himself a pleased chuckle, and released Bashir's arms.

“Take your small pants off.” Still hovering over Bashir, Garak reached over to the table; which not only held toiletry kits, but lubricant. Bashir apparently was unable to resist Garak in this position; after sliding out of his underclothes, Bashir slapped Garak soundly on the left buttock. Garak coughed delicately through the jolt.

Bashir slapped him again, apparently seeking symmetry, for now both buttocks stung. Rubbing the Garak's behind soothingly, he asked: “Are you getting naked, too? I refuse to proceed until I see some scale.”

Garak sat on his haunches to comply. His tunic came off first. “You are a slithering little demon.” He handed the lubricant to Bashir, who was beaming, and worked on his trouser buttons.

Bashir eyed the lubricant. “For me?”

Garak slipped off his trousers and smalls together, and added them to the pile of disarrayed dishabille on the floor. “I want another performance.”

Bashir's eyebrows went up, and Garak watched his lips twitch, fighting a smile. Ways to please Julian Bashir: stroke his prUt, stroke his ego.

Bashir settled his head amongst the pillows, pulling one out of the pile for his hips. Garak had made Bashir several Terran-style pillows prior to his arrival on Cardassia. Even Garak found their softness pleasing, and they certainly were helpful in aiding with sexual activities.

With the pillow under him, and his knees bent and spread, Bashir made quite a sight. His eyes tracked Garak as he moved to kneel at his feet – close enough to watch with aroused scrutiny, far enough not to crowd. The lubricant was in a single-use packet: Bashir ripped it open with his teeth and spit the little removed tab off the side of the bed. Garak found he was too excited by the flash of Bashir's teeth and rude vigour to be offended.

Bashir started with two fingers. Garak always started with one, afraid of injuring the entrance not originally designed for such pursuits. With a glance at the vibrator, Garak considered he might have to revise that fear. Bashir's entrance stretched easily around the fingers, and Garak found himself a entranced voyeur.

Bashir's eyes closed as he lazily made a show of thrusting in and out. His forehead wrinkled as his hips began to roll a little. Garak began petting Bashir's thighs as he added a third finger and gasped at the stretch.

Bashir opened his eyes long enough to stare Garak down and demand hotly: “Talk to me.”

“What about?”

“The usual.”

Garak ran his hand slowly down Bashir's right thigh, feeling the soft hairs that ran up it and made juncture with the thatch at Bashir's groin. He kissed Bashir midway between knee and groin, nipping the skin. Bashir jerked and spread his legs wider. Garak's kisses headed in a upward direction as he spoke. “You're beautiful. Your thighs, my dear, are delicious.” He punctuated that point with another bite, this one closer to groin.

Bashir hummed at the compliment. He was currently very obviously teasing his prostate, as the movements in his hips had increased, as had his low, pleased moans. “I want to, ah, record myself doing just this, right here on our bed.” He stopped here to huff out a heavy breath. “You could watch me whenever you wanted.”

Garak could never allow it, such recordings were so very dangerous in the wrong hands. This didn't stop Garak's heart from skipping a beat as he mouthed at the base of Bashir's prUt and the surrounding dark, sweat-dampened hair. His head bumped into Bashir's arm. “Ah, you like being watched.”

An amused look flitted across Bashir's face. “You like watching.” Bashir sighed, pulling his fingers out. His eyes opened again, and looked Garak up and down where he hovered over Bashir's lower end. “I feel very bad for your poor prUt.” Bashir raised a foot and drew it over Garak's ajan, using his largest toe to tease the groin spoon, leaving Garak all sibilants. “Are you sure you don't want to do the honours?”

Garak's prUt was indeed prickling to evert and take part, tempting Garak with tingling pressure and slickness. A little patience would sweeten the final result. Garak would not be moved by biology's temptations. “I'm certain.” Garak picked up the vibrator from where it lay at the side of the bed. He leaned farther in between Bashir's legs to present the toy for preparation. “I do believe this will be an enlightening experiment.”

Bashir  _hmmm_ ed at that as he grabbed at the vibrator with his lube-sticky hand. Garak found the lubricant packet and squeezed out the last of it onto the shaft. Bashir stroked his hand up and down it as if it were a real prUt, making little twists of the wrist and thumbing its head. “Then we should have gotten a tricorder out,” he joked. Bashir reached for the hand cloth that sat folded on their bedside table, normally used as a makeshift coaster for the large glasses of water Bashir took to bed. He wiped his hand carefully. “How do you want me?”

“Just as you are, my dear.” Garak examined the vibrator, planning his approach. He was not used to wielding such an unwieldy phallus. Any early concern that their differences in anatomy would create problems with penetration were eliminated one of the very first times they had made love: when Garak had bottomed out, stretching Bashir with the wide base of his shaft Bashir had gasped the phrase so many prUt-possessing sentients puffed up at hearing: “ _Oh,_ Elim! You're so big!”

Bashir was pulling at his own prUt idly, patiently watching. It was foolish to wonder if it would fit, Garak told himself. He pressed lightly with the head at Bashir's entrance, testing how much pressure would be needed. Bashir shifted a little, arousal wearing down patience.

“Garak,” he half-whined. “Get on with it.”

It took a little light force to breach the muscle, but once the head was in, Garak was able to slide the toy in smoothly, watching the tensing of Bashir's thighs and thrilling at Bashir's heavy, groaning breaths.

“Oh Jesus,” Bashir sighed when the base had reached Bashir's bottom. “That's perfect.” Whoever Jesus was, Garak felt he deserved none of the credit.

“Are you ready, Doctor?”

Bashir laughed at some inner joke. “God, yes.”

Garak turned the vibrator on, and watched with interest as Bashir's hole clenched tighter around the shaft as the buzzing commenced. Garak patted Bashir's leg and endeavoured to find a good rhythm. It wasn't difficult: Bashir's vocalisations were the perfect guide, and soon Garak found himself working the vibrator in and out at a steady pace. Watching the device disappear inside Bashir was mesmerizing, Garak having never seen his penetrative efforts on Bashir from this vantage point.

Bashir was evidently not pleased with their positions, however. “Get up here,” he snapped distractedly, gasping through his words. Garak complied, carefully crawling up his partner's body while still holding the vibrator. He ended up half laying on Bashir, partially on his side, at shoulder height. His own arm jostled his groin spoon with half his thrusts and Garak groaned at the sensation.

Bashir didn't seem concerned that he could not reach Garak's lips, instead pressing kisses to his forehead with heavy huffs of air, and reaching the arm Garak lay on around Garak to first stroke, then grip his hair. Garak's wrist ached a little from the odd position, but it seemed a worthy cause when Bashir's grip turned into achingly sweet hair pulling.

Bashir was humming out little sounds of delight. “Uh, you're gorgeous. Fucking -  _uh._ You're so good.” Bashir, clearly a little mad with pleasure, attempted to bite Garak's forehead, next to his Chufa. “Harder.” 

Coordination became a bit more difficult as Bashir's hips began to work at a more determined pace. Garak's prUt, finally done with waiting, everted outside Garak's control, and was nudged by his arms efforts. His task now left him shuddering and gasping. Together, they made duet an erotic duet of huffs and moans.

Bashir's free hand slipped down to pull at his own prUt, and they become a jostling mess of organs and limbs. Garak laughed at the absurdity, then gasped as his own forearm pressed up against his irllun before rubbing up the rest of his prUt's length.

“Garak,” Bashir groaned into his hairline. “ _Ah!_ I need to come.”

This certainly seemed a good time. Bashir was desperately trying to pull an orgasm from his prUt, and Garak's hand was cramping. He shifted down a little so that he was better able to adjust the vibrator’s angle. Sadly, this left his own prUt abandoned. Tilting up a bit more, he was able to reliably hit Bashir's prostate, as evidenced by the volume of his moans, which had now reached a level which reminded Garak to be thankful they had no near neighbours. Garak then thumbed the sensor on the vibrator without warning, and watched, at torso height, as Bashir's hip movement turned erratic with climax. Garak's eyes were fixed on Bashir's prUt as it released spurts of ejaculate and not Bashir's face, but he could see Bashir's expression in his mind: head tilted back, eyes rolling toward the ceiling, and a look of gasping surprise forming an 'O' with Bashir's bitten-red lips, quickly turning into a look of disbelief and a heavy breathed laugh.

Garak made gentle movements with the vibrator as Bashir moaned and shifted through his orgasm. He slid it out when Bashir moaned lowly, reaching down to push at Garak's arm, well spent and sighing. Garak switched it off and shimmied up to meet Bashir's face, reaching over him to set the toy on the bedside table, atop the hand cloth.

Bashir was laying dazedly, legs flat on the bed, breathing contentment. Garak made Bashir his own extra large pillow, not caring about the mess. He buried his nose at the juncture of shoulder and neck, and breathed in Bashir's sweat-heavy scent. Bashir wrapped his arms around him, and wiggled a little, teasing Garak's prUt. They both  _mmm_ ed at the same time, cosy and easy.

“Garak, I'm slain. Slain by my own sword.”

Garak chuckled at that, shifting his hips a little, back and forth against Bashir's soft stomach. “I hope it was a pleasant little death.”

Bashir stroked Garak's back as he spoke, running his hand up to Garak's neck and teasing the scales. “You know, some Human cultures used to believe that with ejaculation, one lost a little of their life – their spirit. Hence, ' _la petite mort'._ ”

“Well. That makes many a sonnet clearer.” Bashir snorted at that, and Garak chased the sound, shifting for a kiss. There was a line of passion from Bashir's soft shifting lips to Garak's prUt, and he found himself grinding more fervently into Bashir's stomach, his body out of patience.

Bashir pushed Garak's shoulders back, ending this kiss. “I've been selfish, haven't I?”

“Julian. _R_ _eally_ . You were quite...generous in your performance.” Bashir straightened up a little, pleased as ever with compliments. He sat up a little on his elbows, drawing close to Garak, and dropped kisses along his jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” Bashir murmured into scale, sending a sharp shiver down Garak's spine. After Bashir's arousing 'trick,' there was no question as to what he wanted.

“Your mouth, if you please.”

Bashir flashed his teeth. “I do please.” He was also pleased with his pun, giggling lazily.

Their bed was small; perhaps better suited for just one person, but they were getting practised at shifting around on the mattress. After a few stumbling movements, Garak lay on his back, and Bashir knelt over him, between Garak's legs. Garak raised and bent his knees, spreading his legs to create working space for his partner. Bashir settled down onto his bent legs and elbows; a lying crouch. He looked to Garak, raising an eyebrow and licking his lips, visibly relishing the gut-clench his posture and expression forced from Garak. Bashir, Garak had very quickly learned, was an astute and proactive narcissist. 

Garak's prUt was a little overly slick from having waited so long in his ajan to evert. There was also some smeared ejaculate from rubbing on Bashir's belly. This did not seem to concern Bashir, who lifted Garak's prUt from its resting place – tip on the Chuva – and started with several careful, teasing licks from base to tip. He cleaned himself off Garak's shaft expertly, and gave a passionate kiss to the head, tonguing the split tip.  _Oh,_ what utter  frustration. Bashir knew full well these spots only offered a certain amount of pleasure. Impatient now with waiting, Garak reached for a handful of Bashir's dark hair and with firm direction pushed his head meaningfully downward.

“Julian.” A little force, he had learned in these lovely few weeks, pleased them both. Bashir moaned a little, trailing off into a laugh, and put his face at the base of Garak's prUt, where it pushed out sturdily from the ajan. Garak sighed, relieved, as Bashir licked the scales along his opening, like a regnar might lap from a puddle left from spring's storms. He moved northerly to the base and the irllun, and Garak offered a strong “ _yes_ ” in encouragement. Bashir became more forceful with his lapping, scraping softly with his sharp, flat teeth along the small ridge of scales, and sending sparks from prUt to core. Bashir's face was wet with Garak's natural lubrication, shining in the fading light, as he pulled up a little, and wrapped his soft lips around the head.

_This_ was what Garak craved from Bashir's much-talented mouth. Bashir bobbed his head a few times, spreading spit unnecessarily along the shaft, before settling his lips at the base; firmly closed at the irllun. Garak could feel hot breath from Bashir's nostrils on his wet ajan as he worked. Bashir did not so much bob, as shift his lips up and down over the miracle of nerve and scale. A thumb found his Chuva, and stroked the spoon's centre along with his movements with a firm press. Garak groaned, louder than he meant. Bashir forced reactions, sounds, thoughts of which he had always been in firm control. Garak felt more of his secrets spill forth with every interlude, as if by some witchery Bashir sought and sucked out the best of Garak for his use.

Just as Garak felt he couldn't still his hips much longer, Bashir pushed at Garak's left side, gently nudging him into lateral movement, well able to intuit what was wanted. Garak released his grip on Bashir's hair, rather running his hand to he back of Bashir's head. The occipital bun was rather well-made for cupping and holding the skull. Bashir sucked hard, and Garak pushed away any thoughts of what one could do to break a person with such a grip, letting pleasure wash the red from his mind. He gave into the slow rolling movements that pleased his irllun, and made his prUt ignite. Bashir kept steady, lips locked tight and thin around Garak,  _so_ wonderfully skilled. His mouth stretched wide and tongue moving slow on Garak's shaft, Bashir hummed, letting his head be worked by Garak's body. Garak grunted at the vibration, and let out a long  _ahhh_ , a bow to Bashir.

Garak couldn't keep for long, and as he felt his core tighten, and his inner ajan start to clench, he pulled a little urgently at Bashir's hair in warning. Garak lifted his head from the soft pillows to watch Bashir pull off with wet lips and see what he planned. Often, Bashir would resist being pulled from Garak's prUt and drink down what Garak spilled, losing some in wet streams from around his fast-pressed lips. It seemed now Bashir preferred to use his hand, wrapping it well and snug at the base of the shaft. With firm, forceful twists, Bashir had Garak moving his hips again and huffing, surveying Bashir's confident, intent, expression.

“E- _lim_ ,” Bashir half-sang; a Terran siren luring his sailor in. Garak  _was_ lured; had always been. He watched Bashir lean over his prUt, and with a blistering glance upward and a wink, opened his mouth wide and stuck his tongue out. Garak jerked with surprise, and as Bashir gave a harsh twist of fingers around his desperate prUt, Garak hissed hotly, loudly, and lost his entirety; his gut tight and hips jerking, possessed by this witch. Some of his seed made its target, landing on Bashir's wet tongue, and some painted his lips, teeth, and cheeks, spread liberally by Garak's movements. Bashir coaxed all Garak had to give, softly squeezing and stroking Garak's shaft. In the end, Bashir sat smiling and pleased with a wet and messy face, and Garak lay sucked utterly dry, and with the whiplash feeling of having been successfully shocked.

Garak must have worn this feeling upon his face, for Bashir burst out laughing at the sight of it, and crawled up Garak's body to fall atop him, arranging their bodies into a cuddle. Garak had erred. This was not a songster siren, or royal on high he had found himself with, but some sort of prettily-twisted sexual deity; who for some reason chose to bestow his generous and many blessings upon Garak.

Garak watched Bashir, his head resting on Garak's shoulder, lick at his slippery lips and suck seed off his fingers.  _And now he drinks my spirit,_ Garak thought, barking out a laugh.

Bashir, not one to be left out of anything, pulled himself up nearer Garak's face to press lips and share with Garak the taste of himself. “What's so funny?” When Garak told him, Bashir grinned like a man much younger than not-quite-forty and kissed him again. Amidst the taste of his own spendings, Garak sighed into Bashir's mouth, taken for the many-hundredth time with Bashir's soft flavour.

Bashir bit Garak's lower lip gently, expression easy. “No one's ever called me a god before.” He snuggled back into Garak's arms, relaxed and warm. “Well, maybe  _mid_ -coitus, but that's not permissible evidence in a court of law.”

“You're charming, Doctor.” He wrapped his around Bashir's slender, scale-less back, and tried out a new word, “ _Darling_ ,” feeling the tickle of it on his tongue. Bashir let out a happy exhale, hand drawing circles on Garak's chest. Feeling their joint stickiness, Garak felt it necessary then to note they needed a bath.

“Oh, I don't want to move, Garak.” Then: “Do you suppose we could both fit in the bath?”

“Yes, darling,” - the word felt just fine, now - “if we bathed stacked like chairs.”

Bashir slapped Garak's arm, whether in admonishment, or because the idea aroused him, Garak did not know. Then he said: “I want to stack on top of you five times a day,” and Garak did know.

“Don't lie, dear. You would be  _stacking_ even more  if you could . ”

“You love it.” Bashir slipped out of bed and made his way over to the tub. He made a beautiful portrait, smeared in seed, hair out of place; in bespoke debauchery. Garak admired the gentle swing of his prUt, his now flaccid 'penis,' and sac as he moved. It was fascinatingly foreign, and now endearingly familiar. Bashir removed the bags sitting on top of the tub's storage cupboard, and set them to the side. Pulling out the tub, he gave the bags a second glance and turned to Garak.

“Did you find anything else when you were snooping?”

Garak placed his best affronted expression on his face. “I was not  _snooping_ . I was unpacking.” Then another thought occurred to him, and he sat up, ready to look again. “Why? What else is in the bag?”

“Ha.” Bashir attached the plumbing lines with an air of indifference. “Just a few things. Another vibrator, smaller.” He started to fill the tub, watching the volume meter.  This week's ration was generous, but not luxurious. Garak stood, and stalked up behind Bashir, encircling him and drawing a laugh. “Some other toys.”

“Some other toys.” Garak gripped Bashir a little tighter.

“Yes, dear. Some other toys. A binding scarf.”

“A binding scarf.” Garak realised he was becoming an echo.

“Mmm. Let me go, dear, the tub is full.” Garak turned the water off himself, leaning them both over to do so. “Are you going to let me go, or are were going to stand here filthy together forever?” Garak released Bashir, who stepped into the tub carefully. It seemed to Garak he was showing off more buttock than necessary.

“You're a remarkably subtle, unsubtle man, Dr. Bashir.” Bashir flashed his teeth, pleased with this.

“Get in the tub. If you help me figure out how we can fit, I'll let you finish unpacking my bag.”

To Garak, this seemed to be what Humans called a 'win-win' proposition.

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon is that Julian Bashir: young, full of jizz and vigour, and an avid learner, went out on a Bildungsroman-type adventure during late high school and pre-med. Through this he learned a lot of interesting and impressive sexual moves and acts simply because they're impressive and difficult. Because he's Julian Bashir. This is the only reason I could in good conscience write a character who can deep-throat a vibrator. Obviously people can do this; it's just I hate the impression given by porn that ALL sex is amazing deep-throating adventures. Kids (you shouldn't be reading this legally, but I know you're here), deep-throating is possible, but a lot of people don't want to do it, and a lot don't like it. Don't let someone trick you into thinking it's the standard for cock-sucking! Google "frenulum" with regards to the penis. Anyway. Um. Maybe someone should have farted; that would have evened out the realism.
> 
> I imagine in the 24th century, there are all kinds of amazing sex toys. Like, BDSM stuff you can safely use alone. Sex toys to accommodate all sorts of genitalia: yes, alien parts, but also for intersex people, people who have changed their organs because they are trans or for other reasons; all kinds of goodies. Toys that accommodate disabilities! So many toys! Plus, just fancier, blinkier, flashier toys that do much of the same. But, the dildo has been around for thousands of years, and I feel that it along with vibrators and other good old fashioned sex toys will still be popular in the future, because they're simple, pleasurable, and easy to replicate.
> 
> Oh. Sorry for the running "eating one's life/spirit" and performance jokes. I'm bad. And for the bad Shakespeare title. I'm badder.
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr as [sssibilance](http://sssibilance.tumblr.com/), if you want to listen to a queer, disabled, nerd rant.


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